


Tom's Midnight Mission

by fyredancer



Series: Kaulitz Twin Movie Night [2]
Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: M/M, PWP, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Bill wants to do is go to the midnight Harry Potter showing. Is that so much to ask? Well, according to Tom... yes. Passive-aggressive payback has never been so good!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tom's Midnight Mission

**Author's Note:**

> SOMEONE said, "Harry Potter sex plz" following Private Screening. (Actually I think a few people said it.) So, here it is. Many thanks to Carolyn, my new beta-reader, for putting up with in-jokes from three fandoms.
> 
> Sequel to Private Screening, which is not an essential pre-requisite, but it helps; and hey, there's smut.

"No! No way! Absolutely not!" Tom told his insistent little brother. To make it absolutely clear, he added, "I am _not_ going to the midnight showing of Harry Potter with you."

Bill's eyes widened as though he'd been slapped, but Tom was wise to his tricks. He got up from the breakfast table, grabbed his empty mug and sloshing bowl of milk, and deliberately turned his back on his twin. "It's a stupid idea," he added, because he knew Bill wasn't defeated yet; oh, no, he'd barely even begun.

"You owe me," Bill argued, his chair scraping back from the breakfast table.

Tom dumped his dishes in the sink, turning with innocent eyes. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I watched that shitty Transformers movie with you!" Bill cried, reaching down to scratch absently at Star's ears when their dog nosed at his thigh. "And..." he lowered his voice, as though the dog would judge him for it "...and I gave you theatre head."

"Which was all your idea," Tom concluded smugly, folding his arms. He had to win this before descending into 'you can't make me' territory, because Bill only viewed that as a challenge.

"Tom." Bill's eyes shimmered.

"No!" Tom exclaimed. "It's not just a stupid idea, Bill; it's mental. And risky. Seriously, the midnight show? What if someone finds out? We could be trampled, injured...and your crocodile tears haven't worked on me since we were _three;_ I don't know why you keep trying."

Bill sniffed, but it sounded more piqued than upset.

Satisfied, Tom nodded, and moved off toward the den that they occasionally used as a computer room. He grabbed his laptop from the sideboard on his way, and plunked himself down at the desk with the intent to do some prime Youtube-diving. Bill generally left him alone within five minutes of Youtube immersion, claiming extreme boredom.

"Tom," Bill began, and the tone itself should have clued Tom in as to what was going to happen next. "Tommmmmm."

Tom's eyes widened and he scrambled up from his computer chair. "No, Bill. Don't do this," he pleaded.

Star whined, then made a fretful excited noise, looking back and forth between them as though he expected one of them to produce a ball or tug-rope.

"Tommmmmm, Tom Tom Tom, TomiTomiTomiTomiTomi--"

"No, Bill! For the last time!"

There were about thirty seconds of silence, then, "Tommmmm..."

Unfortunately, Tom knew from bitter experience that his twin had the lung capacity to keep up his unholy chant all day – all week, if necessary. Right up until the premiere itself.

Tom sighed. "Do we have to? We're getting really busy again, Bill, it would be better if we waited until it came out on DVD."

Sensing weakness, Bill flung at him, "It's not the same."

Shit. His own words. Tom was down to his last line of defense. "I don't want to."

Bill's pierced brow rose. "That's never stopped me doing something _you_ really wanted before," he said haughtily. He shook his head and looked down, putting his hands on his hips. "Fine, fine. I'll go alone."

Tom had never actually played chess but he thought this was rather like what checkmate must feel like. "Did I mention yet that I think this is a really stupid idea?"

Bill's grin was, as always, more dazzling to Tom than the sun coming out. He knew an unsaid yes when he heard it. He clapped his hands. "You mentioned; three times. This is gonna be _great._ "

All Tom could do was clutch his head and wander off and promise himself he was never blogging _this,_ either. "Star, find your leash, will you? Daddy needs to go for a walk so he doesn't have to stick around while Mo-- I mean, while Bill gloats."

And so he found himself in line at ten to midnight in a queue that stretched around the block, swathed head to toe in stifling black, standing next to a six-foot-plus Death Eater who was bouncing up and down excitedly as though it were the opening chords to Ich Bin Nich' Ich. Tom didn't know much about Death Eaters; in fact, tried to know as little as possible about Harry Potter in general, but he was somehow sure that Death Eaters weren't supposed to bounce. Or giggle.

He thought he'd seen a few silver-masked faces turn to stare in their direction. It was all right, though; they were not, in fact, the only Death Eaters lined up for the midnight show so he already felt better. Tom couldn't remember the last time the two of them had been out in a crowd like this without at least one massive security guard.

That sparked a realization. Tom's eyes widened. _No one knew who they were._

He sidled up to Bill, who was still excitedly jiggling on the balls of his feet, and put an arm around him.

"Rookwood!" Bill exclaimed immediately in shocked, frozen tones. "What are you doing!? Death Eaters do not _hug._ "

Tom scowled at his crazy little brother and slouched his way back to the wall. He leaned against it and glared at Bill, knowing his twin would feel it despite the mask that veiled his expression. As further vent to his displeasure, he pulled his phone out, planning to text Hagen a fantastical story about an encounter with a big-breasted blonde that both of them would pretend to believe.

"Rookwood," Bill hissed, sounding like an angry tea-kettle. "If you get caught using that Muggle device, someone will Crucio you. And possibly me too, by association."

Rolling his eyes, Tom stowed his phone. "Fine."

Bill inhaled.

"And I'm not calling you Malfoy, no matter how many times you insist there's no Death Eaters named Bill."

"Don't roll your eyes at me," Bill added.

"Don't be such a dick, then," Tom muttered under his breath.

Bill inhaled, but right then the line began moving and he squealed, causing several heads to turn in their direction. He grabbed Tom's arm as they started to shuffle forward at a funereal pace.

"I thought Death Eaters didn't hug," Tom reminded him, amused.

"This isn't hugging," Bill informed him disdainfully. "This is the procession of a pair of colleagues who are prepared to fight arm in arm against blood traitors."

"Whatever," Tom sighed, squeezing Bill's arm and looking around at the packed mass of fans. They were all in costume.

Of _course_ they were all in costume. They were all as mental as Bill, to be here lined up for hours or possibly even days, given the camping gear that some of them were stowing as they eased through the doors.

Tom spotted a couple of girls dressed as Hogwarts students, both of them clutching long, wooden wands in one hand, and cradling large dolls togged out to resemble Harry Potter and his friend Ron in the crooks of their other arms. He seized Bill's arm hard enough to make his brother squeak and turn his masked head in Tom's direction.

"To—er, Rookwood, wha--"

Tom shook his head, averting his eyes. "Those damned voodoo dolls," he muttered under his breath. It reminded Tom of the when he'd been presented with more than one of those huge, creepy dolls at autograph sessions. They had disturbingly large eyes and somehow the girls had wigged and dressed them convincingly enough that Tom really, really didn't want to know what they did with them when they got his miniature representation home. One of them had even had a doll-sized New Era cap. He'd never insult a fan by cringing visibly to their face, of course, but he was Rookwood tonight, not Tom, so he could cringe all he wanted.

He still wanted to know where those chicks had gotten the dreadlocked wigs. It was terrifying. It had made his decision to switch to cornrows that much easier, because see if they could make their little voodoo dolls _now._

Bill's hand patted his arm comfortingly. "Say the word, Rookwood, and I'll Avada Kedavra them to oblivion."

Tom turned a skeptical look on his weirdo brother. Then again, sometimes his own twin was not far removed from the kind of fervor that gripped their fans.

They hadn't been waiting in line for hours, let alone days, so they trailed into the theatre on the tail end of the massive crowd. Tom was starting to worry they'd get separated, the rows were so full. Bill was actually raising his wand to threaten someone when Tom spotted a couple of crappy seats squished up in the furthest corner of the back.

"Those are terrible seats!" Bill complained, predictably.

"But they're next to each other, which is the only criteria we can afford to have left by this point," Tom replied. "You did _not_ make me come here to sit through this movie alone."

With a sigh, Bill caved to his superior logic. He took the lead and climbed over the intervening knees from aisle to corner, casting the occasional glance back as though Tom would somehow get lost along the way. Which Tom might have considered even now, togged out in full Death Eater gear, if Wolfgang hadn't reminded him as to how the movie concluded, what with the major character death and all. By the end of it, Bill would probably need a shoulder to cry on.

They wedged themselves into the corner and Bill began to bounce again, rocking his whole chair with his excitement.

The screams and hollers that rose up when the Warner Bros. logo surged forth were nearly deafening. Tom was used to having ear plugs as a buffer between himself and the decibel-shattering shrieks of teenaged girls. He winced away from the hoarsely screaming hausfrau beside him and Bill grabbed at his hand, finally ceasing his excited bouncing.

Instead he cooed softly, "Dumbledore!" when the visage of an older gentleman filled the screen, as though greeting an old friend.

For the next five minutes or so, Bill introduced each character to Tom as though they were a bosom companion that he hadn't seen in a while, and Tom hunkered down, grinning over how delighted his brother was and pleased that no one could see it. He settled down in his chair, trying to get comfortable in something that had never been designed for someone of their height, and held Bill's hand as the movie unfurled on the big screen.

When he'd finally given in to Bill's crazy plan to attend the midnight premiere dressed up as Death Eaters – and they had cabbed it, because as Bill put it, Death Eaters did not drive Escalades or even Audis – Tom had entertained the prospect of sleeping through the movie. After all, it was quite long, and late at night; he'd be wearing a mask, and it wasn't as though he were emotionally invested in the source material. This proved impossible, as every other line from the actors was greeted with shrieks of laughter or exclamations of shock or delight.

Tom tried to slip down in his seat and put his feet against the back of the seat in front of him, but the kid in front craned around to give him a disapproving glare. He squeaked when he saw Tom's Death Eater mask, but Tom sighed and dropped his legs anyhow.

The movie was vaguely entertaining, in a "this would be better if I was at home futzing around on my laptop while it's on" kind of way, and Tom kind of drifted in and out while imagining the last time he'd been in a dark theatre with his brother. Too bad he couldn't get a repeat of that, he thought with moderate regret. Now _that_ had been risky, but in the end, worth it. So what if he couldn't remember the last half-hour or so of the movie?

Not even halfway through the movie, Tom draped himself over their shared armrest. Dumbledore was nattering on about collections, swirling cobwebby stuff around a floating dish of mercury, and Tom was critically bored. "Bill," Tom whispered, quiet but carrying enough that he knew his brother would hear it. "I'm bored."

The Death mask turned in his direction. "Don't even think about it," Bill's voice informed him through the mouth slit, barely loud enough to hear. He continued in a prissy tone, "There are children in here."

Tom sighed through his nose. "But I'm bored," he tried again. Somehow the argument that Bill had used on him during Transformers didn't sound as compelling. "This movie's stupid, Bill." Perhaps not stupid so much as being completely incomprehensible to him.

"Take a nap," Bill returned, unsympathetic.

Tom was pretty sure it wasn't possible to slouch any further down in his chair. "Already tried," he grumbled. The screaming fangirls kept waking him. He pulled his knees up, managing to get his heels up onto the edge of the seat, and was amused at how the black robe belled out around him, more like a tent than any other garment he'd worn. Then he looked from Bill beside him, to the woman on the other side of him, and his brows stole upward. With his legs jammed up onto the seat and his tentlike robe billowing all around, she wouldn't be able to see _anything_ on the other side of his knees.

He draped his arm over their shared armrest, drumming his fingers along Bill's thigh.

"To—Rookwood," Bill began, and Tom ignored him, slouching a little deeper in his seat and sending a glance to the side to ensure that the hausfrau was still thoroughly enraptured in the tower-bound angsting of the anemic blond git in the tailored black suit.

Tom dropped his hand not-so-casually into Bill's lap. His brother sucked in a breath and the mask turned in his direction, but Bill made the obvious decision to forego protest in favor of not getting them caught.

Half-closing his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at the screen or his crazy little brother's Death mask, Tom gathered Bill's robe up. And gathered. And gathered some more, until at last he touched smooth bare thigh. Surprised, he sent his hand questing further up and stroked over Bill's naked balls.

"What the hell!?" Tom exclaimed, and fortunately his interjection coincided with a burst of laughter at something onscreen. He felt up Bill's naked piece and tried to decide if he was turned on or disturbed by the fact that Bill had chosen to free-ball it under his robe. "Bill, why--"

"Shut up!" Bill hissed, almost certainly crimson-cheeked beneath his mask. "They made it very clear in Goblet of Fire that they go commando under the robes."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't know; didn't read it." He gave his brother's bare bits a last half-hearted feeling up and tugged the robe down over Bill's lap. "Well, later." He brought his legs down and pushed himself up off the armrests.

"Wait, where are you going?" Bill huffed, then said it a little louder as Tom got completely out of his chair. "Where are you going!?"

Tom leaned over to deliver the coup de grace. "Well, that Hermione chick is pretty hot, now. I think I'll go to the bathroom to have a wank."

An outraged "What--" was blurted at his back as Tom, grinning beneath his hood and mask, turned to climb over the knees and laps that were in his way en route to the aisle. Sure enough, he had only just cleared the last set of knees when he heard Bill saying "excuse me, sorry," behind him and the rustle of his swift passage.

Tom scarpered for the exit before Bill could catch hold of his robe. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Death bearing down on him, squeaked, cursed himself for the ridiculous girly noise, and bolted for the restroom sign that indicated the men's room was around the corner.

The downstairs bathroom turned out to be a single. Tom held the door open long enough for Bill to slam into it and he retreated to the far wall, laughing like a maniac and ripping his mask off.

"You're a bastard!" Bill yelled, getting the door shut and twisting the lock shut with an irritated flick of his wrist. He tore his mask off, too, flailing at Tom with a closed fist.

"Oh, come on!" Tom said, catching Bill's wrist and tugging. Bill fell against him; raised the other hand for a slap. Tom caught that wrist, too, before Bill could bring his hand darting in.

"I was watching that movie!" Bill exclaimed, angry breath stirring over Tom's cheek.

"Come on, it's dumb, and it's so fucking long. You know you're going to watch it a million times on DVD anyhow, so let's have a bathroom quickie," Tom coaxed. "We'll get back and it'll be like you didn't miss a thing."

Bill snorted but he was looking uncertain. "We're not fucking," he said.

"Ew, no," Tom said. "I didn't bring lube, and I don't want to get it, you know, _in_ you when we're not home and you're not--"

"Not wearing underwear," Bill finished with a nod.

"Hot," Tom decided at last, risking the prospect of angry, flailing Bill and letting go one wrist to grab at Bill's robe and search beneath it again. "I still can't believe you didn't, though." He got a hand on Bill's cock and groaned as he palmed it.

"Asshole," Bill said, eyes fluttering closed. He breathed hard against Tom's ear and leaned against him, nipping at his earlobe.

"Mmmn," Tom responded, immune to insult so long as Bill's cock was stirring in his hand, getting harder with each stroke. He twisted at the head with each up-stroke and Bill melted against his shoulder.

"Tomi," Bill mumbled, licking his ear. He started pulling up Tom's black robe, getting a hand on his belt buckle and resting it there.

"D'you wanna," Tom began, then pressed his mouth to the slant of Bill's cheekbone. He teased Bill's cock faster, working his hand up and down with firm pressure as it swelled to fullness in his grip.

"Wanna what?" Bill panted. He crowded close against Tom, starting to undo his buckle.

"Suck me?" Tom said hopefully.

Bill's closed fist dinged against his shoulder. "Fuck you, Tom! I'm not getting on my knees for you in this crappy bathroom."

Tom reared back against the wall, eyes wide. "Oh, but the crappy theatre floor was good enough? Bill..."

"Tommm," Bill mimicked, tugging hard on Tom's belt and dragging their bodies together.

Tom groaned, eyes fluttering half-shut. His cock was definitely ready to join the party and he was pretty sure his grip on Bill's had blunted his little brother's bitchy edge, as he hadn't persisted in his complaint and was continuing to undo Tom's pants. "So let's just..." He bit his lip and hummed on a happy note as Bill got a hand on his cock and began to wank him.

"Kiss?" Bill suggested, the word gusting hot against Tom's cheek. He turned his head as Tom did, their noses bumping, and they laughed softly against one another's mouths.

"Right, kiss," Tom said with a little smirk. He grazed Bill's lips with his own and suddenly remembered the first time he'd kissed him, which had been Bill's idea but Tom had been the one to screw up the nerve and make the initial move, as always. Bill's lips had been soft and a little damp, as they were now; hot and yielding beneath him in a way that thrilled through him, twisting his vitals in ways he'd never felt with a girl.

The difference between then and now was that the hesitance was gone. The Bill of now kissed him back eagerly, and he didn't hesitate to slip Tom the tongue. With an excited little growl Bill shoved him harder against the wall and really worked his hand over Tom's cock, thumbing at the head. At the same time, he dragged the ball of his tongue stud over the roof of Tom's mouth, making him shiver.

Tom realized he'd begun to lapse in his own motions, caught up in the sensation of Bill's skilled fingers working over him, and the hotness of his mouth. He thumbed at Bill's foreskin and played with the head for a bit, kissing Bill back when his twin's tongue lashed demandingly against his. He groaned as he was bounced from one sensation to the next, Bill's hand on his cock, Bill's tongue in his mouth, rubbing his own hand over Bill's dick as his little brother crowded up against him.

"Tomi," Bill gasped, pulling his mouth away. He shifted, pressing their bodies together and bringing them into alignment so that the back of his hand brushed Tom's knuckles as they stroked each other.

Tom's mouth formed a soundless "oh" and he bit his lip, leaning into the weight that pinned him against the wall.

Bill gasped again, making a soft anxious noise in the back of his throat that drove Tom wild, surged right to his dick. He associated it with Bill under him, with him sliding into Bill, and he bucked up against Bill's hold, releasing his bitten lip with a hiss.

"No," Bill told him unequivocally, pushing him harder against the wall. He disarmed him by catching at Tom's hand, rubbing their dicks together and wrapping their hands around them.

Tom groaned. "Fine," he ground out, dropping his head to Bill's shoulder, letting his twin guide the encounter as he pushed their cocks up between the tightness of their joined hands. He loved to feel him like this, the velvety smoothness of Bill's cock against his. He thought maybe he didn't get enough of this, rubbing their cocks together, then Bill's hand tightened on his dick and they pushed up together with matched moans and Bill's tongue was in his ear, metal stud scraping just right against sensitive inner sworls so that he lost that thought.

He shoved his mouth against the crook of Bill's neck, licking the sweat there. "Shit, I wanna..." He nipped softly, then went back to lapping at the dampening skin. He pushed his tongue against the skin hard, as though he could mark him with only that.

"Do it," Bill breathed in his ear, hips pushing his cock hard against Tom's, hand clasping them together and working him, making Tom writhe and mash his lips to Bill's sweet-tasting neck. "Do it, I want you to."

With a muffled groan Tom sank his teeth into Bill's neck, sucking desperately. He could bite him anywhere but places that could be seen; it was the rule. He'd broken it earlier that year, but they weren't touring right now, and Bill hadn't said anything in protest, only covered up with a scarf when he had to tape those acceptance speeches. It was a line, one of a handful of things they'd declared forbidden when they'd already plucked the most tempting fruit, and that was what made it so fucking alluring.

"Ahh...ow...ah, Tom," Bill keened, sounding pained and ecstatic all at once.

Tom soothed the bitten flesh with his tongue as he jacked harder at Bill's cock, aroused even more by the way Bill's fingers were tangled with his. He was anxious now to make him come, to see his face slip into that curiously light expression, free-falling in pure desire. He kissed Bill's neck, a soft-lipped apology, then pulled back to watch his face.

Bill panted, his cheeks flushed, and he was watching Tom, too. His hair fell over his heavy-lidded eyes and he whispered something exceptionally obscene in his throaty voice; he stuck his tongue out and toyed with his own barbell. Watching, always watching.

It threw Tom into a tangled remembrance of jumbled images; the barbell going through Bill's tongue when he'd gotten it and his nails biting into Tom's hand; the head of it pressed against the slit of Tom's cock when Bill had gone down on him the first time; Bill toying with that stud during an interview and making Tom glad for super-sized jeans; Bill's lips stretched around popsicles and suckers and lollipops as though to tease him during times of drought. His own orgasm caught him by surprise and he was shouting before Bill shoved up against him and covered his mouth, swallowing the sound.

"Mmph...nnn, ah, God," Tom mumbled against Bill's mouth, and Bill nibbled on his lower lip. His tongue teased at Tom's lip ring and Tom whimpered as he kept spilling, shoving his dick against Bill's palm.

"You like that?" Bill was whispering. "Is that what you wanted, dirty boy? Getting off in the loo, thinking about Hermione's tits?"

"Screw you," Tom gasped, pressing a hand flat to Bill's lower back, hauling him closer. He twisted his hand almost savagely around Bill's cock and enjoyed the scream that Bill buried against his shoulder. Not in pain; he'd feel that, God, it wasn't a pained noise. "If we weren't in here I'd show you whose tits I'm interested in." He brought his hand around to Bill's front, rubbing through the fabric, tweaking at a nipple.

"Ummmn," Bill responded, panting hotly against Tom's neck. "Faster, damn it Tom; it smells in here." He stuck his nose up against Tom's skin to inhale that, instead.

"Okay," Tom said, and set his teeth in his lip as he looked down at the reddening suck-mark on Bill's neck. He wanted to bite it harder, make sure it would really bruise, but instead he jacked harder at Bill's cock and brought his middle finger up to his mouth. He sucked on his finger, wetting it, as he stroked Bill with a lighter touch.

He dragged his fingers up the length of Bill, base to tip. He played with the head of Bill's dick, pushing foreskin back and forth until Bill squirmed and whimpered against his neck, smacking him with his free hand, grabbing Tom's hand with his other and pressing it hard right where he wanted it.

Tom grinned, ducked his head against Bill, licked sweat off his skin. He brought his other hand down, skirting Bill's bare thigh, and gripped his ass one-handed, spreading him a little.

"Oh!" Bill gasped, crowding against him. He started to hump Tom's hand, agitated little sex-kitten noises tumbling from his mouth. "Oh! Tomi, harder; oh, make me come!"

Nodding absently, Tom stuck a saliva-wetted finger into Bill's little hole. Bill yelped, leaned hard against him, and his cock jerked in Tom's grip. His mouth nudged sweetly against Tom's, not quite kissing; he wasn't altogether 'with' Tom enough for that, but he pushed their faces together so that their breath mingled as he came all over Tom's fingers and belly, getting it all across the fringe of Tom's pubic hair.

"Ugh, Bill, gross," Tom groaned, as Bill shuddered against him and finished coming wetly against his stomach.

Bill snickered into his ear, pressing his face against Tom's neck. His hand rubbed Tom's belly, smearing come thickly into the hair down there.

Swearing, Tom tried to disentangle himself from his little brother, but once Bill latched on he was unshakable. "You are such a prick!" he swore, as Bill giggled madly.

"What, Tomi? I thought you liked it dirty," Bill said, cracking up against Tom's shoulder.

"Fuck, I don't think I can get that out even if I wash at the sink," Tom complained.

"Poor baby," Bill replied. "Do your best."

They did wash at the sink, because Bill was still pantsless, and that and their fastidious nature demanded it. Tom had to spend more time there, because Bill had been so damned thorough as usual, doing everything but signing his name.

"So, Hermione's hot, huh?" Bill challenged as he grabbed up his Death mask to don it once more.

"Hell yes!" Tom said with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, one hundred percent would tap that..."

In the mirror, he thought he saw Bill raise his wand threateningly.

"...if I didn't already have something at home that can Stupefy me way better than she could ever manage," Tom finished off-handedly. He hated that he knew the name of that damned spell.

Bill the Death Eater squealed and threw his arms around Tom before he'd quite managed to get his mask back on. "We are having lots of sex when we get home," Bill's voice informed him from beneath the hood. "Now do you think you can be good for an hour or so while I finish watching my movie?"

Tom thought about it. "Yeah, I guess I can keep my hands off your wand for an hour or two."

Still not blogging this, Tom decided.


End file.
